


Snowy Savior

by di93



Series: Inquisitorial Enigma [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di93/pseuds/di93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian realizes that the Herald sacrificed himself to save Haven, and the world is short another good man. Someone needs to pick up the slack, and if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowy Savior

“Run! Now! Go, go!” they were ordered, and they followed the demand without a second thought, running as fast as they could until they heard the sound of something cutting through the air overhead. They slowed as they watched, already almost to the tree line and within sight of the torches of those who had escaped from Haven, as a bolder sailed overhead and crashed against the mountainside.

The thunderous sound of an avalanche seemed to rattle even the air around them, and the sounds of cheers and praises to the Maker were drowned out as the army of Templars was buried and as their leader flew off, disappearing into the black of the night. However, in spite of being miraculously alive, Dorian’s stomach dropped, not even having to look behind him to know what the success implied.

While they followed orders, the Herald had stayed behind. In order to save everyone else, all of the people for whom he had spent the morning hunting rams, the Herald had stayed behind. In order to wipe out the Templars which would have slaughtered all of the innocents in Haven without a second thought, the Herald had remained. In order to stall for time so that he and Blackwall and Varric could escape and survive, the Herald had buried himself with their enemies.

For a moment, Dorian thought he would vomit.

Still, he marched on even as his stomach became as cold as his exposed extremities. It was only once they caught up with Cullen and Cassandra that the others realized how they had managed to escape.

Dorian could read the hope turn to resignation on the Commander’s face when the three of them approached, but Cassandra demanded answers in spite of what her eyes were already telling her.

“Where is the Herald?”

And only then did Varric and Blackwall glance back to find nothing but snow and footprints following them.

“But he was—”

“He sent us ahead when the Archdemon made to land. He stayed behind and somehow delayed long enough for us to get out of range before burying Haven,” Dorian answered, cutting Blackwall off. ‘There’s no way he could have made it,’ was left unsaid, but the pained expression on Varric’s face said it loud enough anyway.

“No! The Maker sent him! That cannot—”

“We must keep moving, Cassandra. We’re too exposed out here. Are the three of you alright to keep moving?” Cullen cut in. They nodded, and Cullen returned the gesture. “Leliana is leading from the front with her men scouting ahead. Stay close and don’t wander off,” he ordered before heading back towards the main group, dishing out orders like hiking through the mountains in the middle of the night was a standard affair.

Dorian hadn’t known the Herald for long at all, nor did he know the man well—although he doubted that there were any in Haven who had known the man any better—but he did know that Thedas was short one good man with the Herald’s loss. He hadn’t been particularly friendly—their morning of jokes and wicked grace aside—but it was plain to see that he had a kinder heart than almost any of the Chantry sisters in Haven. The people for whom he had sacrificed himself. That thought made the pit of his stomach burn with anger. Why was it that the good men were the ones who had to die? To die for the sake of the unworthy.

Dorian remembered the merchant’s voice in his head from when the Herald had hauled him out of a burning building. _“It’s about damn time!”_ Truly, the Herald was a better man than many of those he’d sacrificed himself to save, Dorian included.

He sighed and shook his head. There was no helping it now. If Thedas was short one good man, he would simply have to become a better one himself in order to fill the gap. So, he pressed on until he reached more of the survivors, offering to help carry what he could or to pass out extra blankets or coats, ignoring the looks directed at him. Even under the circumstances, they were no less distrustful of the mage from Tevinter. If he wasn’t passing out blankets he warmed with magic, he guessed that some of them would have spat in his face and told him that he should have been buried under the snow too—he was certain that many of them were still thinking it.

Still, he wasn’t going to give into their fear any more than he would give into his own. So once all of the blankets were passed out and there was little left to do aside from continuing marching silently through the snow, he kept an eye out for elfroot as he walked on, wandering just a ways from the main group to pluck and pocket the useful leaves before rejoining them.

Eventually, they stopped once they reached a small canyon that looked like it would block out the worst of the elements and could be somewhat defensible, and Dorian searched out the ill-tempered apothecary to hand over what he’d managed to collect. Adan gave him a surprised look, but grunted and accepted the herbs, and he figured that was the closest the man came to a “thank you” with a smile. Dorian didn’t dislike him.

As the soldiers began setting up tents, Dorian did his best to help those who would let him or to stay out of the way, but eventually there was little left that he could do, so he sat in front of one of the fires and stared into the flames for a long moment before clasping his hands together, closing his eyes and dropping his head.

 _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written_ , he silently recited, but it wasn’t enough.

_Maker, the Herald may be too good of a man for this world, and we may not deserve to be saved by him, but we need him all the same. He never faltered. He is a peacekeeper. He is righteous. If it is in his blood that your will is written, then allow us another miracle. Guide him back to us. He will lead us, and we will follow, and your will can be done._

“There! It’s him!” Cullen’s voice drifted through the canyon, and Dorian’s head snapped up.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra’s voice echoed, and Dorian was immediately on his feet and sprinting, grabbing a blanket and warming it as he ran.

And there, slung over the shoulders of Cullen and one of his soldiers, was an impossibly large man whose breath could be seen in puffs in the frigid air. Dorian rushed ahead and threw the blanket over the man’s shoulders as they passed, Cassandra calling out praises to the Maker.

“Herald! Stay awake!” Dorian demanded as he walked backwards in front of him.

“What are you talking about? He needs his rest!” Cullen grit out and Dorian had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“If he goes unconscious when he is already half-frozen to death, it’ll take another miracle for him to wake again!” he explained. After all, next to necromancy, Dorian was most adept with ice magic. He knew exactly how deadly the cold could be. “Herald! Adaar! Look at me! There you go. Keep your eyes open. Shouldn’t be hard, I’m nice to look at even when covered in snow and ash,” Dorian joked, as he continued walking backwards, looking into the Herald’s slightly unfocused eyes. The man’s lip twitched with what was almost a smile, though, so Dorian took it as a good sign as Cassandra already went sprinting ahead to order that a tent be cleared and that any spare blankets be brought to the Herald. “You have to stay awake. There are more rams that need killing in these mountains, I’m sure, and you really need to improve at Wicked Grace, so you can’t sleep yet.”

“‘M tired,” Karaas mumbled, struggling to do as Dorian demanded, especially when his voice was so relaxing to listen to.

“I know you are, but—Herald!” Dorian cut himself off as Karaas’ eyelids drooped, and he reached up and slapped the man’s cheeks, making his eyes blink open again. “There you go. Stay awake for just a while longer. This is why you should sleep like a normal person at night instead of going off slaughtering rams.”

“Everyone… Is everyone alright?” Karaas asked, too tired to laugh.

“We were able to get out of range before you brought down the mountain, Herald,” Cullen responded from the side, and Karaas turned his head a little to look at the Commander and nod before his eyelids threatened to close again.

“Herald!” Dorain shouted again, and Karaas forced his eyes open again. “Just a little while longer, alright? I promise you can sleep soon, but we have to get you into a tent and warm you up first. How else are you feeling? Were you hurt?” Dorian asked, hoping that keeping the man talking would help keep him awake.

“Don’t know. Can’t really feel much now.”

“What about before?”

“Mm… Explosion knocked me down… the Elder One… Corypheus? Picked me up, threw me into the trebuchet.”

“Did you hit your head?” Dorian asked, and Karaas blinked slowly and gave a nod.

“Alright. Anything else? Do you think you’ve broken anything?”

“Hard to say. Bruised,” Karaas replied as they finally made it to the tent that had been cleared for the Herald. Blankets were stacked on a cot, and Dorian started grabbing them, warming them with magic without breaking eye contact with the Herald for more than a moment.

“Some healers are going to come and make sure that you didn’t hit your head too hard, alright?” Dorian said, shooting a glance at the Commander once the Herald was situated on the cot, and Cullen immediately turned to the soldier who had helped carry Karaas and sent him to fetch a healer. “We’re going to work on warming you up, and if the healer says that your head is fine—as fine as usual, at least—then you can sleep. I’m sure you will be back to hunting wildlife in no time.”

“‘S too bad.”

“What’s too bad?” Dorian asked, concerned. Perhaps the man had hit his head harder than Dorian had thought.

“Ram skins were buried. Would’ve been useful,” he replied, and Dorian laughed, suddenly feeling like everything really would be alright. The corner of Karaas’ lip twitched into a smile.

“You’ll simply have to hunt more down once you’re on your feet again,” Dorian said as a healer appeared inside the already over-crowded tent and began inspecting the Herald’s head for injuries.

“Druffalo next time.”

“Oh? Well if that’s the case, perhaps I will join you. I think that a druffalo will need more to kill it than some bad jokes.”

“Could try bad poetry.”  
“Oh-ho! Now that I absolutely must hear.”

“His head seems fine, but once he sleeps, someone needs to wake him every few hours just to be sure,” the healer said before moving on to inspect the rest of the Herald.

“But perhaps we should save it for another time. How are you feeling? Warming up any?”

“Better. Tired. Can’t really feel my feet,” he replied and Dorian looked over at the healer who was already moving to the Herald’s feet to check for frostbite.

“Do you think he’s warm enough to sleep?” Dorian asked the healer.

“Seems so. Want to keep plenty of blankets on him, though,” she replied, and Dorian turned back to the Herald.

“You can go ahead and sleep now. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe,” Dorian said, but he didn’t expect the smile that lit up all of the Herald’s face even if it wasn’t a particularly large one.

“Thank you,” he said just before his eyes drifted closed.

Dorian watched the man’s chest rise and fall for a moment before sighing, feeling his own built-up fatigue finally hit him. Suddenly, he felt someone’s hands wrap a blanket around his own sagging shoulders.

“Thank you for your assistance. If you would rather rest, I can stay here myself,” Cullen offered as Dorian pulled the blanket a little tighter.

“That’s alright. I promised to stay, after all,” Dorian said, waiving off the man’s concern, and Cullen nodded but made no move to leave as the healer continued her work.

“Well, it seems that he’ll be just fine as long as his head isn’t hurt too badly. He’s got some right nasty bruising just about everywhere, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got anything broken. Those oxmen are built as sturdy as they come,” the healer said once she’d finished, and Dorian bristled.

“You know this man is the reason you’re alive at this moment, yes? That if not for him, you would either be dead by gutting from one of those Templars or a charred corpse or frozen solid, you realize? Now, I don’t know how it works down here in the South, but to me, it’s only common decency to actually be grateful when a person has saved your life and to, at the very least, not use slurs about them,” Dorian snapped at the healer.

“I—I didn’t—” she stuttered, with embarrassment before glancing at Cullen, who also fixed her with a displeased glare. “Apologies, sirs. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just… I meant that he’s lucky to be built so strong. If a human or an elf had been banged up like that, they’d probably have more fractures than bones is all. As it is, the Herald should be fine as long as you keep him warm and check on him every few hours to make sure his head didn’t get hit too badly,” she said before giving a bow and hurrying to leave.

Dorian stood there silently glaring at the tent flap for a while longer as Cullen sighed next to him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I hadn’t realized that you and the Herald had become friends so quickly,” Cullen said lightly after a while, glancing over at Dorian. He frowned and turned his glare on the Commander.

“I didn’t say all that because I consider him a friend, Commander. I said it because it’s a matter of basic decency!” he snapped, and Cullen lifted his hands.

“No, I agree with you, truly. What I meant was, well, what you were saying earlier… Until the two of you were talking, I’m certain that I’d never seen him make a joke,” he said, and Dorian’s anger dissipated.

“Yes, well, until I actually heard it this morning, I didn’t quite believe it was possible either,” he replied before looking down at the sleeping man. “It seems that our Herald is full of surprises.”

“I should say so,” Cullen nodded, also looking at the man before looking to Dorian again. “Would you mind if I stay for a while as well?”

“Well, an unconscious man does make for poor company. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” he said with a small smirk and Cullen huffed a short laugh, relief of the Herald’s survival finally adding levity to all their situations, even as cries could be heard all around their makeshift campsite.

Cullen retrieved from chairs from somewhere then, and the pair sat in the corner of the tent, for a while, occasionally chatting, but mostly just basking in the short moment of relief until Cassandra and Leliana entered, and then Cullen left with a nod to discuss their options. Then Dorian sat quietly my himself for a while longer until he could no longer resist the dregs of sleep, so he nudged the Herald to wake him briefly before asking Blackwall, who was standing just outside the tent, to take over. Then Dorian searched for an empty cot of his own to sleep on, overcome with fatigue and relief.

 _Thank the Maker_.

**Author's Note:**

> I love making Dorian an ice mage because of the irony (plus Cole's snowflake comment).


End file.
